


Four Times Dr and Mrs Henry Jones Jr Tried to Go on Vacation, and One Time They Did

by ljs



Category: Indiana Jones Series
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-20
Updated: 2013-05-20
Packaged: 2017-12-12 09:11:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/809859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ljs/pseuds/ljs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-<i>Crystal Skull</i>.</p>
<p>Everyone must define 'vacation' in their own way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Four Times Dr and Mrs Henry Jones Jr Tried to Go on Vacation, and One Time They Did

 

_The Honeymoon_

 

Indy stood there in the midst of the busy airport, grinning, not giving a damn at the looks he was getting. 

He and Marion finally, _finally_ had made it. After mistakes (mostly his), separation, more mistakes (mostly his), and a slightly uncomfortable reunion in South America, they were husband and wife. Their marriage was all of five hours old; now it was time to catch a plane for Paris, where they'd lie around in the swanky suite he'd reserved and make love and drink and make love some more – with only maybe one tiny side-trip to Les Catacombs, there were new rumors about treasures the Germans had left behind. And just as soon as she got back from the bathroom – 

“Indiana Jones?” said a poorly disguised voice nearby. Indy recognized it, nevertheless: Barron, one of Mac's old acquaintances from a grave-robbing gang, a thorough-going bad one. “You and I have unfinished business.”

Indy turned slowly toward the voice. Yes, Barron was far too close and looked far too happy. And in the near distance, just by the ladies' toilet, there was a scrum of people, and – “Get away from me, you creep!” Marion shouted from the midst of the melee.

“We aren't going to make that plane, are we,” Indy said sorrowfully, and threw his first punch extra-hard. 

(Yes, what with the public fistfights, the... disagreement... with Barron over that one artifact Mac had actually turned over to the Nazis, and the visit to the police station, they didn't make it to Paris. They spent their honeymoon in their newly bought house, camping out amongst the boxes, lying around and making love and drinking and making love some more. It worked for them.)

…..........................................

_Their Second Christmas_

 

Marion had been waiting for this trip to New York City for months. They didn't really have time between terms for Paris, but Indy had promised her a week where they'd walk in Central Park, dance at the Rainbow Room, make rude remarks about museums and their collections, eat and drink and make love, enjoy themselves without students or crises or – 

“Marion!” he shouted from the study.

She closed her suitcase before going – slowly – to answer his bellow. It was _possible_ that he'd simply mislaid his glasses, but a certain note in his voice warned her.

“Marion,” he said before she even made it fully into their study, “Ox just called, and outside Jalapa there's this fascinating new find of Olmec carvings with some unusual features, the new director of the Museum of Archeology there has read one of my articles and wants a consult, and, um.....” He trailed off. An unobservant person would have thought the expression crossing his face was sheepish, but she knew her Jones. Those eyes were sparkling with field-lust.

“And you want to go to Mexico. Not New York,” she said. She counted it a personal triumph that she didn't throw the nearest heavy object – a polished stone paperweight inscribed “Best Professor 1954 (runnerup)” – at his now grinning self.

He got up from behind the desk and came to her. As he took her in his arms: “ _We._ We go, Marion.”

“Well. At least it'll be warm,” she sighed, and put her head on his shoulder, and hid her smile.

( _No_ one, as Indy later averred, could have predicted bandits stopping their bus from Veracruz and the subsequent kidnapping, from which Indy had extricated them with more difficulty than usual. _No_ one.

At least the artifacts were a real find.)

…........................................

_Easter, Some Months Later_

 

“I don't understand it. This never happens, I'm always up-to-date on all my shots,” Indy said fretfully.

“Don't worry about it. I've got you, and you'll be fine once this fever breaks,” Marion said. She laid her hand on his forehead, cool against hot. “Do you want more ginger ale and saltines?”

“I'm not the kid, I don't need coddling,” he grumbled. His hands plucked at the sheet, then stilled. “Well, I guess I could use some more ginger ale.” 

She kissed his temple, turned her cheek against his for a breath, then pushed up from their bed. “I'll be right back.”

“Thanks, honey,” he said, and then, huskily, “I'm sorry. About the thing.”

“Don't give it a second thought,” she said.

In the kitchen, she went to the refrigerator and got out a can of Canada Dry. She poured his drink into a tumbler. Then, as if she couldn't help it, she picked up the stuffed envelope on the counter.

_New York – train, hotel reservations, theater tickets,_ it was inscribed in Indy's handwriting.

Sighing, she threw the envelope in the kitchen trash.

….......................................

_June, The Same Year_

 

“Paris or bust, Marion,” Indy said. “Nothing's stopping us this time!” He kissed her, then bent to pick up their suitcases –

As their front door flew open and their son sprinted through it. “Sorry, Mom, sorry, Dad, late, sorry,” he panted. He slammed the door and leaned back against it. “Um, you guys better get going. Here I am, your house-sitter, and you don't want to miss that plane. Really.”

Without even needing to look at each other – “ _Mutt,_ ” said Marion, and “ _Junior_ ,” said Indy as he dropped the suitcases.

It only took five minutes of parental interrogation before Mutt cracked. That semester he'd been interning at his college's museum, and had discovered that the prize of the collection, three matching pre-Columbian masks from Peru, were fakes. The head of the museum hadn't taken the news well, and had sent some less than ethical graduate students after Mutt.

The pursuers weren't just unethical, they were also stupid: they hadn't bothered to find out who Mutt's family was. They arrived at the Jones house fifteen minutes after him, and found a cold welcome from both the senior and junior Jones (and Mrs Jones too).

However, the resulting fight, as well as the necessity for bailing out Mutt after injudicious use of Indy's bullwhip, meant that Paris was a bust. Again.

“Next month, Marion. I promise,” Indy said earnestly, as they sat, hand in hand, in the police station at midnight.

“Oh, Jones. All I wanted was one nice, civilized vacation,” she said, and rested her head against his shoulder. “Obviously I was crazy to even think about it.”

“I swear, Marion. You'll have your vacation.”

...................................................... 

 

_A Few Weeks Later_

 

The elegant evening noise of the 1st arrondissement wafted in through the open bathroom window of their suite at the Ritz.

Eyes closed, Indy lounged in the bathtub. His hand fumbled for and then found his tumbler of Scotch. After he took a sip, he sighed. “Now this is all right. Isn't it?”

No answer. He opened his eyes. “Marion?”

She stood, wrapped in a towel, arms on the windowsill. She was gazing outside at Paris twilight. “Yes, Jones?” she said, without turning around.

He got up and out of the tub with only a little old-man grunting, then wrapped a towel around his middle and padded damply over to his wife. He nuzzled the back of her neck before whispering, “You okay, honey? Isn't this what you wanted?”

“Indy,” she said, “I love you.” They shared a kiss, long and soft like the evening, and then she put her hand on his chest and began to brush it against his skin, back, forth, back, forth –

“For God's sake, Marion, what's wrong,” he snapped. 

“It's just....” She leaned forward and kissed the nearest scar she could reach. Then, persuasively, “Indy, do you think that maybe tomorrow we could check out that Catacombs rumor?” 

Well, as they agreed forty-eight hours later whilst escaping a nasty secret underground tomb, everyone should define 'vacation' in their own way.

 

 

 


End file.
